


The Rescues

by Wexchester (Charmsilver)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Schmoop, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Wexchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has an abundance of bad habits, but this one has got to be the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rescues

Cas, as Dean sees him, is an annoying little fucker at the best of times.

He’s cranky in the mornings and bratty as hell until he gets his first – sometimes second – coffee. He’s stubborn as a mule, cheeky as a goddamn chipmunk and fucking _adorable_ when he has absolutely no right to be. He forgets to hang the bathmat up after showering, has a habit of leaving his socks in the creases between the sofa cushions, and warbles at the top of his lungs when he’s doing the dishes with all the lilting charm of an angry black bear.

Living with Cas, Dean thinks, is very often like living with an overgrown child who happens to know a thing or two about everything – everything except how to behave like a normal human being, apparently. 

So when the rescues start, Dean thinks he’s probably going to have to put his foot down.

 

It begins innocuously enough when Cas goes out for a walk one afternoon and returns cradling a bee in the palm of his hand. Its wing is broken, he claims, and it needs to be cared for.

Dean allows it, and that is his first mistake.

After a day of “TLC”, as Cas puts it (air quotes and all), the bee is zooming around the bunker, emitting happy buzzing sounds that reverberate in Dean’s ears and set him on edge. Cas watches the path of the bee with an expression of absolute wonder, his eyes shining as brightly as the grace he lost some years ago.

The bee does three more loops of the room before zipping out the open window, and Dean thinks that is the end of that.

  

He is wrong, of course, and a week later Cas finds a baby sparrow that has fallen from its nest. He wraps it in soft tissues and keeps it warm in his hands, whispers soothing words to it in an ancient language as they watch TV. Though he is unwilling to admit it, Dean watches, enraptured by the way Castiel gentles the bird with his voice and hands.

Not everything can be healed by simple kindness alone, however, and the next morning the bird lies lifeless in Castiel’s palms, it’s little eyes open and glossy.

Cas is devastated, and though he does not cry, has never cried, Dean has to hold him all through that night and use his own hands to brush away the ache Castiel feels in his chest. “These things happen,” he tells him, because they do.

And things might have ended there, except they didn’t.

 

No, Cas nurses a steady stream of creatures: spiders from the bathtub, butterflies with torn wings, a squirrel with a bleeding foot, a duckling, a snake, several mice, and once a little brown bat. Some survive, and some don’t, and Dean finds himself plodding through the aftermath of these cases, picking up the scattered pieces of a Cas who is coming to realise, slowly, the extent of human uselessness.

He cannot heal these creatures; he can only love them.

 

But Dean knows things have really gotten out of hand when Cas steps inside one evening, slides a hand into his pocket, and lifts out the scrawniest, most pathetic-looking kitten Dean has ever seen.

“No way,” Dean says, lowering his foot on this once and for all. “No cats.”

But Cas just sniffs and ignores him, choosing instead to cuddle the kitten to his chest and tickle it behind its ears. The creature mewls and presses itself against Cas’ shirt, burrows into the soft material there.

“I found it in a dumpster,” Cas says, and he sounds _betrayed_ , as if he can’t believe he rebelled for a civilisation that could treat innocent animals in this way.  

“Cas,” Dean says, even though he _knows_ he’s already lost the battle, “c’mon, man. You’ve gotta stop this. 

But Cas isn’t listening. Instead, he’s feeding the tiny cat little driblets of milk off his finger, humming a slow tune in the back of his throat. Dean looks on, swallows down the surge of affection that threatens to fill up his chest when he sees the look of contentment on Cas’ face. He’ll let Cas have this one, and that’s it; Dean doesn’t think he can take anymore.

  

But Cas, though the cat is neither wounded nor sick, seems to have no intention of sending it away. He feeds it up, uses an old comb to brush out its mottled coat into a glossy sheen, and even makes it a little bed out of a bunch of ratty rags and an old casserole dish.

The kitten, Dean soon realises, is not going anywhere.

He broaches the subject with Cas one night, quietly suggests that he might find another home for the creature. But Cas just gives him a lingering look of distress and curls a hand around the small cat that is sleeping next to him on the couch. “I don’t want to give her away,” he murmurs, and Dean feels himself folding like a house of cards.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll strike you a deal.” 

Cas looks at him with interest. “Oh?”

Dean nods. “You can keep the cat, but only if you promise to stop with the SPCA crap.” 

Cas seems to mull this over, his hand stroking idly through the cat’s silky fur. He looks away from Dean, and when he turns back, defiance is written in every pore of his face. 

“No,” he says, and sets his mouth together in a firm line.

“What?” Dean splutters.

“I will keep the cat, and I will continue to care for my father’s creatures.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean growls, but he knows there’s nothing he can do – not really. Cas was never one to abandon those in need – not as an angel and not as a human, and as it happens, Dean is so whipped he’d let Cas get away with anything.

So he throws his arms in the air and moves to leave the room in a huff, but Cas reaches for him before he can get away, tugs his sleeve and draws him in with a softly spoken _Come here, Dean_. Dean goes, slides into the space between Cas’ knees with false reluctance. Cas tips his head back with his fingertips, smiles languidly, and Dean is reminded of the force with which he loves this man.

“God, you’re a brat,” he breathes against Cas’ palm, and Cas raises one eyebrow at him because he’s a smarmy little dork.

A smarmy little dork that Dean can’t help but love with all the fierceness in his heart.  

“She needs a name,” Cas says at last, startling Dean out of his reverie. 

Dean blinks, slides his gaze over to the furry ball of kitten on the sofa. He shrugs. “She’s your cat.” 

Cas hums in agreement and tousles her fur. “Hm,” he murmurs, thoughtful. Dean rubs a circle against his inner thigh, waiting.

Eventually, Cas lets out a little breath of air and smiles. He faces Dean and clasps their hands together. “Grace,” he says. 

“Her name is Grace.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr for more fics: wexchester.tumblr.com


End file.
